


If I Could

by starryeyedhomicide



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, az is pining and sad, basically Ow, he just like collapses over Love and how it Hurts, heavy angst be warned, im a sappy tender bastard can u tell, well.. heavy for me.. bc I write fluff most the time djdjdk, wine drinking..
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-22 23:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20330623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyedhomicide/pseuds/starryeyedhomicide
Summary: Aziraphale loved Crowley. That was simple. He loved his smile and his low laugh and his swagger and those pretty, pretty eyes. He loved his snakeskin shoes and the fact that he cared for his plants, even if he didn't show it very well. Heavens, he even loved the Bentley in a weird way, but only because Crowley loved driving it, his pointy tongue sticking out out his teeth when he concentrated on a particularly tricky U-turn. He loved him. And he was completely sure that the demon, in all his glory, would never feel the same.Az has a mental breakdown over unrequited love and uses wine and metaphors as a coping mechanism.





	If I Could

**Author's Note:**

> prepare for tears im sorry

He was sitting in his bookshop when he felt it creep over him. It simply wasn't fair - his bookshop was his safe place, but he could now feel its comfort dissipating as his heart beat faster. It wasn't sudden, either, just a slow tug in his gut, the dread and guilt quietly seeping in and pooling in his stomach. He'd felt like this a lot recently, choosing to ignore it, but now the floodgates of his heart had unexpectedly opened and he really, truly felt it.  
Ow.

Aziraphale loved Crowley. That was simple. He loved his smile and his low laugh and his swagger and those pretty, pretty eyes. He loved his snakeskin shoes and the fact that he cared for his plants, even if he didn't show it very well. Heavens, he even loved the Bentley in a weird way, but only because Crowley loved driving it, his pointy tongue sticking out out his teeth when he concentrated on a particularly tricky U-turn. He loved him. And he was completely sure that the demon, in all his glory, would never feel the same.

He'd hinted many times about his feelings and had always received radio silence or a confused, cold response, and had chosen to keep his mouth firmly shut. He was pretty sure the demon wasn’t even capable of feeling love - that it was another one of the things he lost in the Fall. Sometimes he wondered if Crowley even liked him at all, but they’d stuck together this long, actually enjoyed each other’s company, and he knew that the paranoia was just a human tendency he’d picked up from staying on Earth too long. Not that he’d ever want to go back, though. He’d hate to ruin their ongoing friendship of over 6000 years, and to be honest, without Crowley he didn’t know what he’d do with himself. _No matter how many admirers, _he thought, his eyes straying to the Oscar Wilde novels, _I could never shake these damn-.. bless-.. stupid feelings._ He miracled a bottle of wine into his hand, not bothering with a glass. This was going to be a long night.

He hadn't been completely sure when the spark was struck, but in 1940, in a church of all places, the fire made itself more prominently known, even if he’d felt it flickering quietly many times before. Now, after the apocalypse, it was brighter than ever, and at this point it was eating him up, searing his insides white-hot and scorching. He could feel the heat when they touched and the ache of it all scalded his skin. He worried sometimes flames would start blossoming from his fingertips, and light their relationship until it had gone black, curled and ashen. But with eyes like that, Crowley was kindle, and Aziraphale was burning.

Kindle though he was, Crowley was also ice water. Refreshingly cold and not-quite liquid, and very capable of a good shock to the system. The complete opposite of a fire. The complete opposite of Aziraphale.  
He supposed they had been made to be opposites, after all. While it was true Crowley had once been an angel, after Falling he was certainly different. Not that he remembered. Hell was a packet of cigarettes - crowded together, all eager to burn, waiting to make you sick, stuffed full of rot and smoking at the ends, but Heaven couldn’t really be compared to anything earthly. It was just blank, open… empty. Maybe a hospital. The bright white light, the cleanliness and uniformity, the air, and the small feeling in the back of your mind that you didn’t fit in even if you tried. He almost hated himself for loving Crowley, a demon, because no matter how hard he tried, he still retained the judgement that had been hammered into him by those so-called righteous, that all demons were evil at heart, even if his demon wasn’t that bad. That they didn’t have a heart. Aziraphale knew this definitely wasn’t true.

_Oh well,_ he sighed, _no use for any of that now._They were on their own side now. Forget all that Heaven/Hell nonsense, they were back-to-back, just them against the world, Aziraphale and Crowley, as it should be. A flaming sword and a plant mister. Neither of which they had, seeing as they were entirely incompetent at their jobs. They were together, their own team. Together. He almost laughed bitterly. The Almighty had a strange way of making things happen, but he wasn't about to question Her, even if he'd secretly felt more than a little doubt - because we all know what happened last time She was questioned.  
He needed a lie down.

Covering his face with his hands and flopping onto the sofa, he huffed. Damn Crowley and his hair and his smile and his soft concerned voice of “Angel, what’s wrong?” and his _everything_. The answer had been “Nothing, my dear boy!” with a forced smile and a declaration for more alcohol, and an ignorance that Crowley’s gaze lingered on him, sunglasses tilted ever so slightly to reveal those golden eyes.  
Angel. The pet name, often mistaken by servers to mean they were together, sliced a shard into Aziraphale’s heart whenever he heard it. One the one hand, it reminded him he was a divine holy being, and not supposed to feel or be connected to romantic love in any sense, but the other loved it, revelled in it. The way Crowley used it for millennia was solely for him, and seeing as they had new sides now, he felt like the word was sort of his. And it was a romantic name, too! A tiny jolt of false hope, even though he didn’t know what he was hoping for. Aziraphale would always try and deny romantic involvement to the smiling human, but they’d always chuckle and wink like they shared some sort of secret. Like they knew that Aziraphale harboured these feelings. And like they knew they were reciprocated. Aziraphale would’ve scoffed if it hadn’t hurt so much. Crowley never protested, but he was sure that was out of embarrassment and politeness and not that he wanted them to think they were a couple. If only.

Uncovering his eyes and staring at the ceiling, Aziraphale saw him clearly in his mind’s eye. Swigging from the bottle, he let the alcohol run though him and trickle down his throat, tasting of sharp clarity against his blurry thoughts. He knew it was unhealthy, but wine always seemed to make him feel better. Maybe getting drunk would be a solution, an escape. He could at least try. He just ached.  
He let the pain flow from his chest, in and out like a tide, the ocean pushing in barriers and dragging away feelings. He could not let himself feel this way. In came the tide, drifting in seashells and protective walls, reminders that this was wrong and he was Just A Friend. The tide ebbed out, washing away all hope and tiny particles of sand. If only emotions were that simple. He wanted to let himself slip into the undercurrent and get lost in it for a while, the feeling of love and how wonderful it was, but that was dangerous. He didn’t want to get lost at sea. He’d almost lost himself.

He was lucky demons couldn’t sense love, because if they had, by now Crowley would be on Alpha Centauri forgetting his existence and ignoring his phone calls, if you could even get reception in space. He was sure that a Crowley would be disgusted if he ever found out, that he’d lose his trust and never talk to him again. The thought of his demon running away and leaving him forever stung almost as much as unrequited love, but it was clear that Crowley wasn’t disappearing anytime soon, so for that he was glad. He’d just have to deal with the other pain quietly.  
He knew that while he couldn’t sense love, the eyes are the windows to the soul, and one stray glance could send everything crashing down. So he restrained himself, kept himself back, in favour of maintaining their friendship. He just wished he would be allowed to look at him. To drink him in with his eyes, unapologetically gaze at a beautiful man and watch his yellow eyes glow, the corners crinkling as he smiled. To hold him gently, dancing to an old record and not go too fast for either of them. To just be.

I’d look at you so softly, if I could.

**Author's Note:**

> OOF OUCH SORRY AAAA  
catch me cryin @ my own fukin work  
can u smell that?? its projection  
me?? dealing w sad shit through projection onto fictional characters?? noo haha u must be jk,,,, :’l  
what are emotions lmao  
hope u enjoyed!!


End file.
